Don't Take The Money
by 1000splendidsuns
Summary: Curly Shepard lost the best thing that ever happened to him. And this is how. (Sis fic).
1. Chapter 1

I know. I literally _just_ posted, but this was sitting in my docs and I thought, well, why not? I know people aren't as into the Shepards as before, but I hope this is fine anyways.

* * *

 _"Somebody broke me once_

 _Love was a currency_

 _A shimmering balance act_

 _I think that I laughed at that..."_

Her eyes are the first thing I notice, or maybe it's her laugh, which is booming and loud and heartily filling the room, kind of like her Dad's in that way. It sounds a million miles away from me, much less from the same room, the same... _I look around me_...diner. How can Marlene be glowing, her cheeks reddened as though her laughter could physically squeeze her skin, while I feel like such shit? How could she and her brothers, sitting tables away from me, be so carefree, so goddamn _happy_ , while I'm like this, while I'm _here,_ alone, my knuckles bruised and my own cheeks bloody?

I notice, out of the corner of my eyes, people looking up at me nervously from their tables, shifty-eyed, talking to one another, like they think I'm going to rob the place. It doesn't bother me like it usually would have. I make a point to smile at one of the older ladies, who flinches backwards because of the blood from my split lip.

I move to leave because if I'm honest, seeing her is just _too much..._ pain? Nausea? A combination of emotions so intense I want to faint? Whatever it is, she just meant too much to me, for sure, when I used to know her. If I think about it, she was just a load of trouble - I mean, who wants a broad that cries and doesn't want you fighting and doesn't sleep with you until you've been together for _at least_ two years? Not me. I'd rather go to hell, to prison, or rot someplace, than have to be -

Her eyes lock with mine and I lose any fucking thought in my head. Man alive, what was I thinking? She's perfect. She's sincere and strong and kind and everything I want to be. And she always felt so right in my arms, her hands so soft and her neck having the permanent smell of vanilla. I don't care if I sound like a pansy or an idiot, she also made me feel fucking _safe_ , and loved, and whatever the fuck I thought I didn't need before I was in her life. She was gone for a while, out of my life, I mean, for three years, and I didn't know where else to find it...'love'. Love that isn't tainted by everything that has strained and strangled and beat the living shit out of every sense of trust that fucks over me and Tim and Angel.

The worst of it was having her face in my mind, whenever something small reminded me of her, like a girl with silky, straight, walnut colored hair who tied it half up and half down walking down the street, or the taste of lemons, or the rampant, noisy, wildly quick sound of footsteps that for all the world could have been an excited puppy.

She's so perfect it's tearing me up, making my head spin like some sort of tsunami that destroys everything as it strengthens, which is what happened: my fingers are numb, chest so heavy it aches, my legs are shaking like I need to piss or I'm eighty feet in the air, and my mouth, my stupid mouth, hangs open. So when her eyes meet mine, I stay there, trapped with all my emotions and feeling that physically takes control with no hope of me moving until she turns away.

 _Tell me to fuck off_ , I think. _Come on over and tell me to go to hell. It would make this easier. So much easier to leave, to hate you, to finally move on._

The light mood drains from her face, joy vanished and laughter cut short. Her brothers are going to notice in a second who she's looking at, but for that second, I really am imprisoned, in a weird, stupid way, but it doesn't matter because this second belongs to us, to me and her, and all the history we have hangs between us, a force that holds us together.

She stands up, and I see her mouth my name, and I think I would have rather rotted somewhere than not have heard her say it again. Ponyboy seems to realize what's going on, and he used to be my buddy, but I know what with all that happened, even he doesn't think his sister should be anywhere near me. It hurts, in a twisted way, sort of like a little punch in my gut, 'cause I know I deserve it, but he was the main brother to defend me back in the day, and if _he's_ gripping his sister's arm, trying to get her to sit back down, then I can't even imagine what the other two are going to do.

I gulp, not able to move, still mesmerized by whatever it is that made her so damn different years ago, when it wasn't the first time I'd met her, but it felt like the first time I'd _known_ her.

When she's so close to me, enough that I can be sure that she's real and not some blurry, twisted formation warped by my eyes, I make a damn point of trying to say something right. All we've shared, all our memories and troubles and hopes squeeze between us, and it seems far too vast of a thing for it to not overwhelm me. I think of the last time I saw her, and I can tell by the fierce look in her eyes that she is, too, by the tears that angrily fill them. I know it's not all rage, though, because I have seen Marlene Curtis drowning with emotion, and like me, it seems to all spill out at once until we both need to struggle for air. I remember the first time I saw her like that, and it's as though that devastated fifteen year old girl has merged with the beautiful, trembling woman in front of me now.

x

I didn't hate the sight of blood. Everyone got into fights sometimes - a rumble, even, when enough people were pissed off. I ain't got a problem with hurting people, which shows if you pay attention to the things I've done. I ain't no damn saint and I never will be. Sometimes it's downright delightful, seeing some asshole get what he deserves.

But this? Shit, this was wrong. This wasn't on purpose. And, yeah, maybe I did fuckin' feel bad about it, even if she was starting to raise herself up. On bloody hands. Fuck.

"Marlene?" I kneeled down next to her, watching her slowly raise her head, squinting at me against the street lamp light. "Shit, Curtis, I ain't mean to harm ya."

She was still looking at me, and we held each other's gaze for a second, me studying her and her staring at me...blankly. Maybe she fell down harder than I thought - she'd ran into me, literally ran into me, and it being so dark, I hadn't noticed her until it was too late.

Jesus, I hope she ain't hurt too bad. She's got a big brother at least twice my size and I know damn well that he'd skin me alive if I so much as touched his sister. And I sorta did hope she was okay. She'd fallen pretty sharply, legs and elbows scraping the pavement.

"Marlene?" I tried again.

She burst into tears.

I gaped, not expecting that in the slightest, just kneeling down next to her, watching her cries get harder, not knowing what to do. I weakly patted the top of her head, and then immediately regretted it, since it was matted and sweaty. I decided to say something, and once I did, it was like I couldn't stop babbling.

"It really hurt that bad? Shit, shit, shit. Man, I'm sorry. Let me- oh, no, never mind. Hey, what are you doing?" She was picking up a rock. "Are you gonna use that? Marlene, fuck, cut it out!"

It was like she'd lost her mind. She grabbed the rock, threw it at a traffic light, but missed and skimmed the side. Then, attempting another try, she reached again, aimed, and really was gonna try again until I'd stopped her.

I'd grabbed her wrists. She looked at me, as if she hadn't really payed attention to me before, her cries slowing down, so that she was only sniffling. It felt like a decade, at least. I didn't know what the hell her problem was. Her hair stuck to the corners of her face, all sweaty.

"What…?" I couldn't say it any other way. "What the fuck?"

She was calming down. Finally realizing what she was doing. Jesus. "I…" she took a rattling breath. "I don't know." She looked down. "I don't know. I don't know, I don't know…"

She kept repeating it, voice getting more and more weary, eyes tearing up again. But I couldn't take another tantrum, risking getting picked up by some cops because Marlene fuckin' Curtis decided to break down and damage property in the process. I'd told Tim that I would try to lay low for a while, since he kept getting pissed at me for never being home.

I shook her shoulders a bit, making her round, brown eyes look at me. She had really long eyelashes, I'd noticed. "Is it because you fell?"

"No...no. It's my parents...my parents...they…"

"They what?" I wanted for her to continue.

She took a shaky breath. "They…"

I didn't get a proper response, though I eventually found out what had happened. But, at that moment, all I knew was that she'd coughed, and puked all over me.

* * *

Okay, just in case it's confusing, the second part (where there's an 'x') shows that time that Curly is talking about, where he, years ago, felt like he'd gotten to 'know her the first time'. So, it goes back in time to the beginning. I made it past tense so hopefully it's not too confusing. Also, "Don't Take The Money" is a song by The Bleachers! :)


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi! Hope everyone has a good weekend :)_

* * *

I never thought that I would ever rip off my jacket in the dead of winter, when the snow was no longer daintily meeting the ground, and instead raced and stabbed like daggers into my now watery, stinging eyes. Why would I, right? There was nothing worse than freezing wind slapping me in my already numb, reddening face and fingers digging into my pockets, desperate to find some sort of warmth, but instead poking through an old hole.

I just felt more tough when the weather was warm, you know, like I could be more intimidating, 'cause my teeth weren't chattering and I wasn't speaking _l-l-like t-this_ and I could lean back against a wall and cross my arms without my whole body shaking. The only good part was when Tim did it too, and I could laugh at him and tell him he looked stupid.

 _What, you gonna piss your pants again, Timmy?_ I'd say, referring to his first grade 'accident' and how he'd tried oh so hard to keep it in, his whole body shaking in protest. He'd always just shove me, so it was worth it to happily remind him every once in a while (especially when he got a little too egotistical for my liking) that he peed all over the carpet in class when he was little. That, and the fact that he was known as 'Tiny Timmy' at around the same time, 'cause he was small for his age. It's funny to look back at now since every hood in town is so scared of him. Sometimes I wondered if that was really why he started the gang, and if all we did was just to boost Tiny Timmy's little self esteem.

I tried saying _that_ to Tim once to see if I would get away with it. Ha. Like I said, I only suggested it once.

Anyway, I used to think that whole thing about never taking off my jacket and nothing being worth freezing to death, even risking my 'look', until Curtis puked all over me and proved me wrong. I would have liked to say that I was pulled together, dignified and shit, despite the hysterical girl, the cold, and the vomit, but hell, I'd be lying if I said I didn't tear my leather jacket right off me and yell like some prissy Soc getting mustard or wine or some shit on his shoes.

"Fuck!" I jumped away from her, nearly slipping at the same spot she did before, the ground thinly coated with ice. I hadn't paid attention to it prior to her running into me 'cause I was caught up in my thoughts, and the shit that went down at home, so I was more than a little mad to begin with. I said some things to Curtis that she didn't deserve, and as a result of the clawing, scratching, relentless anger that she had no part in forming.

She tried saying sorry to me, opened her mouth to do so, but she gagged and this time turned away from me as her dinner came right back up her throat. If I was being honest, I blamed her for the shift in weather; it wasn't this fuckin' snowy before she showed up. From where I stood, disgusted and pitying her, I could still see her sweating despite the merciless stabs of snowflakes beating down on us from the cloudy night sky.

She continued to shiver violently, as her shoulders shook like she was on the electric chair and she gagged on the side of the road, nothing but water coming out this time. I realized that she was in nothing but a knitted sweater, pajama pants and slippers with her socks, which were soaked against her feet now.

I softened. "Hey, Curtis, what is it?" I asked, trying to be gentle, stepping closer to her again. I was shivering madly too, if you want the truth, clad in my shirt and jeans.

"Hey, if you're too upset to go home, we could go back to my place." She didn't say anything. "I'm not trying to get anything from you, but if you wanna warm up, you can come over. I got blankets...and...a heater...uh...not a gun, I mean my house has a heater. I got hot water, too. I dunno how to make tea but you can help yourself." I sounded so stupid, and I didn't know where the offer came from, but I was worried for real that she might end up turning into an icicle. I couldn't just leave her there.

I didn't know who the hell made me The Good Samaritan tonight, with a frighteningly emotional and sick Miss Curtis meeting me in the dead of night at the end of January, and I questioned absentmindedly if it was my Catholic grandmother that had something to do with this, who died way before I could even get away with carrying a switchblade, just hoping from the other side to see if her family members could just be seen doing something good for once.

No response.

" _What_ about your parents?" I snapped loudly, repeating what she had said to me earlier before she cut herself off, frustrated with her for continuing on like I had said nothing. Like I said, I was already mad before running into the girl, and puking all over me just tipped me over the edge. And I had been trying to be nice to her, despite all her mess, and she just ignored me like some sort of stuck-up bitch, like I wasn't even worth receiving comfort from. I had about all the rejection I could take within the passed hour.

For some reason, I was also upset with her for acting like this without even knowing what her issue was with her parents because I knew, like so many guys in town, that they were one of the good ones. Ain't nothing her parents could have done to her that could possibly be as horrible as what mine did to me tonight, let alone the rest of the nights before this one.

She had no right to run around town sobbing and breaking down and barfing her guts out. Not while my parents fought over whether or not I was a fuck-up of a kid because of him or her so often that their screams are ingrained into my head, my own brother was the one who made sure I had something to eat every night because my mother couldn't be bothered and my dad wasn't ever home, and only an hour ago, an _hour_ ago, my useless excuse for a dad decided... oh, hell.

I continued on, taunting her, my blood burning because of my parents, her behaviour, and my inability to leave her despite all this. Her silence edged me to go on, her eyes planted on the ground like the rest of her body was alive and reacting to her surroundings but her mind could not.

"Your parents find out about some boyfriend of yours or something?" I mocked her. "Did Daddy not like your boy? Aw, poor Marlene. Go ahead and cry, honey, and get sick all you want. Bawl yourself silly and throw tantrums until you get Daddy to change his mind," I added, my voice heightening from a simmer, reeking with something much more poisonous than merely a condescending tone. "What could possibly be wrong with your parents? You ever been starved, Curtis? Your dad ever slam your head against a wall?" I was suddenly livid with her, as though she was responsible for it all.

She raised her head slowly, and I almost back off, her eyes on fire.

We held eye contact, smoldering with rage that replaced any hurt we both felt, our bodies blazing so that the cold became something of the background, something secondary and no longer noticeable. The wind whistled occasionally, like the rest of the world was simmering down now that we were getting heated, as though all the intensity in the world was being soaked up into our pores and there was none left for anybody else.

She flung herself at me, shoving my chest, so that I landed on my back against the ice. I pushed her away, but her nails dug into me, as she hissed hatefully, "my parents are _dead_ , you fucking moron." She moved to stand up, and she looked like she could spit on me. " _They're dead_." Again, she choked up, but she remained still, frozen into place, no longer trembling, defiant to the cold around us, and the cold from me.

There was nothing I could say. I wondered if she would attack me again. Lord knows I deserved it. Maybe she would feel better.

Maybe I would feel better.

She surprised me by giving me her hand.

I had no clue how long we stood there, breathing heavily, focusing on each other. She kept her hand reached out to me.

"Come," she said to me, her voice toneless. She hardened it when she added, "Come on now, Shepard, before we both die tonight too." I took her hand. I could see tears stained her face, and though she was walking next to me, her expression was set to the lifeless one I remembered from earlier, again like her body was up and moving, but her mind was stuck, frozen, reliving the worst moment of her life again and again and again. I kept my hand in hers, squeezing it every so often, reminding her that she wasn't.

I also reached for my leather jacket before we walked off, it being wet enough so that all the shit was kinda off because of the spiking snowflakes and cold enough for me not to care that I hung the still nasty, old thing over both our shoulders.

None of it was something romantic. I wasn't trying to be. It was just an awful night, I knew I was freezing my balls off, and she must have needed some kind of warmth.

I reckon I did, too.

x

 _Thanks for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

This is dedicated to HappierThanMost because she's still invested after all these months lollol. :')

Sorry I forgot to say Happy Remembrance day!

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A sharp holler made me snap my eyes open, yanking me from the state of half-sleep I was in, desperate to cling to slumber. The very first thing I saw was Tim towering over me. I yelped, not expecting to see someone staring down at me, especially not so fuckin' intensely, Jesus, you'd think he was planning to attack or something. I could swear that he was exactly like a raccoon that sneaks into your trash at night, just coming up around a corner without anyone noticing. Course there's no way I could compare dear old Tim to an animal that wasn't tough, like a lion or freaking tiger, without him bitching at me for a month. To be honest, it was sort of a talent, Tim being able to sneak around unexpectedly; it certainly got him what he wanted a lot of the time. Also made me nearly piss myself every other time, though.

"Fuck, Tim. You pass the time by watching me sleep or something? What, did being a menace to society get boring?" I hated waking up earlier than when I had to. Found myself sleeping more and more often those days, just wanting to get away from anything and anybody. It didn't seem right by me to have the sky be so blue and the world so sunny if I felt so crummy. My bed became my escape. It was so wonderful to just close my eyes and shut everything off. I felt so damn tired all the time all the same though. I was getting beaten and bruised on the inside is what it felt like, even though I knew it just seemed like I was a lazy piece of shit on the outside. I hadn't even brushed my hair or put grease in it or showered in what felt like forever. It was too much to bare, just being alive. Surviving seemed to be all I could muster.

He rolled his eyes at me as I grinned. "Shut up, pussy. Listen, I need you to get up. You've already missed first period of school and you ain't got an excuse to not go to another."

I glared at my brother. "I think my father running out on me is excuse enough, thanks." It was only two days ago, the night he up and left. Years of fighting and he finally had a breaking point. Still, though he didn't stay around for long or look at us fondly anymore, I hadn't expected him to just _leave._ I wondered if he wanted to make a new family. He was young enough - he and Ma had me when they were twenty. He could still have a kid and be able to throw a ball. Hell, he used to be like that once.

It made my heart pound painfully at the thought, so I tried not to think about it again.

Tim put his hand on my shoulder. I'm sure he meant to be kind, but my heart sunk a bit further when he said, "It wasn't like he was around much anyway," because it was true and because that didn't make it less painful. I felt like the air had been sucked right out of my lungs. I didn't have a dad anymore.

I sort of stayed still for a while and I guess Tim became impatient because he reached into my drawers and picked out a wrinkled shirt and tossed it over, as well as a pair of faded jeans.

I inspected them. "Ugly ass clothing. This'll make me feel better for sure." I shrugged on the t-shirt despite my tone.

"Didn't take you for someone that cared so much about fashion, Curly," my big brother replied, raising his eyebrow. I snorted forcefully. He made his way to leave the room as I began getting my pants on. "Hey," he said, stopping at the door, "I don't want you to worry. Okay? I got things covered."

"How? Are you gonna be my daddy?" I said, and I meant it as a joke, but it honestly just made me sound like a sad little kid. Fucking gross. I didn't want anyone to think I was sad or fucking heartbroken. I was glad that waste of space bastard was gone. And I ain't scared about where we're gonna get money from now, whatever Tim thinks. Why be? Not like we had none anyway. Not like we ain't been hungry before, so our stomachs were rumblin' like thunder. Maybe Ma would have to work more to cover the bills...well, fine. Shoot, maybe she'll need the distraction. I kept telling myself this to keep my heart from racing. Damn. I didn't like feeling this way. With my dad around, at least I knew what kind of shit to expect.

"I just mean that I'm gonna keep things running." He tried to sound flippant but his face gave it away. His skin looked gray and his expression drooped like the world was dragging it down. I fought the urge to physically place my hands on his cheeks and feel how hollow they looked.

I said, "It ain't like you weren't doing much of that anyway," and I hoped he knew I was trying to be kind too. We did things like that around here. Maybe it was unhealthy that because our father's reign over our household we were forced to be cold and distant, that we didn't know how to hug each other or say "I love you" or cry together once he was gone and things hurt like hell, but we did know how to _do_ things _._ That's why Tim was gonna step up. And that's why I'd figure something _else_ to do. My chest burned like fire and my stomach was heavy and my head ached like I'd been slammed against a wall again. I ain't gotta sit here and just accept it. Whether Tim had told me to lay low or not.

I went to school every day that week, letting Tim think he had me under control. Let him believe I wasn't going to raise hell. I couldn't just do what was expected of me when my own father wasn't going to accept his responsibility anymore. It's like I had to make things more crooked to make it even. I had to make it dirtier to make them clean.

x

"Marlene?" the softest voice called for me. "Marlene, hun, try getting up today, huh?" I knew in my head that it had been Soda, but I let my heart believe that it was my daddy. I shut my eyes, so I could see him again. _I couldn't._ I couldn't.

x

Eventually, once everybody had their doors shut and Tim had crawled into his bed next to mine, I slowly tried to get to my feet without waking 'em. I kept my socks on so I could slide my feet against the wooden floors, and as I pulled the door open by avoiding any loud creaks I felt like the freaking man. It was like I was a spy or something, inching closer to the front door in the pitch dark and so close to escaping. With Dad gone it was even easier, since he wasn't passed out on the couch and droolin'.

I crept out the door after getting my boots and jacket on and closed it tightly behind me, locking it using the key I had stashed into my pocket. As I hopped down the steps, I let a grin spread across my face as I bumped my fist in the air and whispered loudly into the night, "Fuck yeah!" I ran down under the scarce street lamp lights, slush soaking my boots, ready to finally be free. The white-hot rage that had filled me for what seemed like a fucking lifetime finally loosens into this beautiful burst of energy, suddenly making me feel like I can live again. I almost wanted to cry. I couldn't believe it, how I was so happy to be alive, to be out again. I thought I would be tired for eternity. I had a piecing fear of having the night end too fast. I didn't want to go back to worrying and being miserable in the light of day.

It was a long shot trying to find where my dad was staying, but I thought that since he took the car with him - selfish bastard - maybe I could see it and it would give his hiding spot away. I knew that car from a mile away. It's got so many dents and scratches, some of them being results from it being keyed, words like 'fuck you' being on it. I guess it's come from the list of people he had come to piss off. I would gladly add the decoration myself.

It was kind of cool being able to roam around at night. There were no expectations of what I needed to do. I could just walk for hours and that's exactly what I planned on doing. Whatever it took. I just didn't want to lose the feeling of being so high and being so untouchable. I gleefully searched around town for an opportunity to cause trouble, to give the world some of the shit it's been shoving at me back.

I got tired of walking after about an hour. It got tiresome, passing by closed stores and open bars, old men ignoring me and pretty women flirting with the same lousy men who looked the type to spend all their time away from home at a bar or in front of the TV.

These people were drunk and laughing, spilling way too much all over themselves and being all touchy. I didn't like Tim when he was drunk, since he talked way too much. Last time, when it was just the two of us, he kept telling me how great I was and how lucky he was to have me, and when I warned him to shut the fuck up with a pillow over my head (it was 3:00 am) or else I would tell everyone how much he loved to gush about me, he looked at me straight and said, "Like they'll ever believe you, dip-shit," and then laughed like he was a freaking comedian. When he finally did sleep, he snored all damn night.

It wasn't like I was going to fall asleep anyway, really. Night was never just for sleeping.

x

"Marlene, you aren't going outside," is what Darry had snapped at me when I tried to go sit on the porch for some fresh air. I got the worst cold after that night spent walking and wailing with Shepard, like some sort of horrible reminder of how much I humiliated myself around Curly Shepard, out of all people. My little brother's friend, this dumb, reckless hood...I really shouldn't be thinking unkind thoughts, though, considering how nicely he had treated me.

"Oh Darry, but I haven't been outside in so long, I've just been stuck in bed all day," I whined immediately. I cringed a little. Darry wasn't Daddy, he wasn't going to melt at my words or tone. That man got so much trouble from Momma for always wanting to please me. I was his baby girl, and whether the boys were jealous or my mom thought I was being spoiled, that's just how it was.

"You're lucky you're even up and moving at all," he said to me, shaking his head. I made to leave the house anyway but Darry shocked me by grabbing my arm and pulling me back. "You almost missed your own parents' funeral you were so sick, you have lost your damn mind if you think you are stepping outta the house before my say so," he harshly notified me.

I wiggled my arm from his grip. "You didn't have to remind me," I groaned. I had been barely able to move without hurting or puking the days after my parents passed. I really had been a burden on my brother, as he practically carried me throughout so much of that day.

Ponyboy came through the door, Johnny in his stride, both of their cheeks flushed from being outside; they smelled so distinctly of cigarettes I tried not to breathe through my nose anymore. I smiled at them, but then frowned slightly because Pony's face was tear-stained.

Pony shook his head. "Soup? Again?"

"You ain't being eating anything other than chocolate bars anyway," I said, attempting to be lighthearted, "I don't see why you're complaining." It only made matters worse: Darry set off on a tangent about how Ponyboy had to eat proper food, how he wasn't allowed to eat chocolate until Darry thought he'd eaten a healthy amount of other meals, and that Ponyboy wasn't five and his diet had to be thought of. All the while Pony glared at me, and I felt even lower than I did before.

When night had fallen and my brothers' snores could be heard from my bedroom, I decided that sometimes I got to decide for myself what felt right for me to do. My parents were dead. There was nothing left for me to be afraid of, it felt like. It was as though any monster had already shown itself to me, any horrible feeling had surpassed and infested my body like a bunch of rats now lived there, and there was nothing, nothing worse than this. So what if I got mugged or harassed? My mother was somewhere buried in the ground. My father's body was now a corpse. The sky was gone and the sun was dead...

I crept noiselessly through the house, where my parents' photographs smiled and watched me as I disobeyed my brother and opened the old screen, then front door wide open, and left with only the small stray cat on the porch baring witness. My Momma used to feed this cat when he'd stroll over to our home, and seeing it only made me want to weep. Why did this stupid cat get to live and not her? It used to be scared of my daddy, its eyes getting all wide when he showed up, which used to make me think that some big man must've been awful to it. The wind whistled upon my arrival, and I breathed in the air as it mirrored screeches that echoed in my head every damn day now, and I yearned to join them.

Out of the corner of my eye, once I'd been wandering the streets for hours, I made out a dark-haired, grouchy-looking boy that looked just as lonesome as the black stray I'd seen just a while ago. He looked like he was stumbling, and around all the excitement that surrounded him, I recognized the same horrified, wide-eyed look that emerged in the small animal.

Damn.


End file.
